


Maybe One Day

by shefollowedfires



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 2x09, 2x13, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gap Filler, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Season/Series 02, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8130026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shefollowedfires/pseuds/shefollowedfires
Summary: Filling the gaps where Abby Griffin and Marcus Kane got up to more than the show would have us believe.





	1. Chapter 1

“Clarke’s a survivor. She’ll get through this, too.”   
  
Since landing on the ground, Abby found herself pleasantly surprised by Marcus Kane on an almost daily basis. Some surprises were sweeping, grand gestures – like entrusting her with the leadership of their people. But - particularly since his return from captivity - there had also been an abundance of little quirks that poked flickers of light in these dark days: things she knew he had no idea he was doing.

He was smiling more, for one; often even accompanied by gentle laughter. While waiting in line at the mess hall, he’d almost startled Abby out of her skin by turning to her and asking what it was they were about to be served. It smelled good, he’d said. And then, after making an appearance in Medical to update his Chancellor on the status of the Grounder army awaiting them outside, he’d joked with Abby that this was nothing compared to that time they campaigned against Diana Sydney for more residences to be built on the Ark.   
  
He’d joked.   
  
Like they were friends again.    
  
These little moments were bite-sized tastes of a kinder past, and Abby had quickly come to crave them. Sitting next to him now, relaxed and soft – it was a feast of familiarity. But they had dirt beneath their feet, and a campfire warming them; the sound of wind rushing through towering trees as the moon cast long shadows from overhead. Familiarity could only go so far.   
  
Familiarity came to a dizzying stop as Marcus reached over and gently clutched Abby’s thigh.  
  
 _Oh._  
  
He didn’t immediately retreat. His broad hand rested lightly on her leg, thick waves of warmth radiating through her whole body from the contact. He caught her widened gaze. She found herself counting her heartbeats, suddenly pounding with such force that her ears grew hot. One. Two. Three. Against her better judgement, she let her eyes fall to his lips. A curiosity, really. Thin. Rough. Masculine… Four. Five. She saw him swallow. Six. She felt her own lips begin to part. Seven…

He leaned in.

To her great surprise, she stayed right where she was; watching as Marcus drew closer. Her heart quickened, now beating faster than she could count as she watched his lashes lower over his eyes. They flickered open briefly when he’d come within a breath of distance, searching her stunned expression for any sign that this wasn’t okay. Abby was frozen; utterly immobile. She felt completely disembodied, and wouldn’t have been able to make an educated guess what her own body language was offering as an answer if she tried – that is, until she felt his lips press, with feather-light tenderness, against hers.  

He lingered there for a long moment. She felt his other hand come up to graze her jaw, fingertips settling just behind her ear. With a deep inhale, she let her eyes close, and pressed her lips tighter against his in affirmation. They breathed into each other with a soft sigh, and suddenly it was like fighting gravity to be so far from him. She leaned into the kiss, and he pressed his thumb against her cheek.   
  
Finally, Marcus released himself, resting his forehead against hers.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured, drawing the hand that had been at her face down to her shoulder. Abby’s eyes opened, a pang of hurt running through her at his regret.

“Marcus, it’s alright-“

“We have a long day ahead of us, Abby,” he posited, his eyes suddenly darting just over Abby’s shoulder. She turned her head to follow, and – Clarke. Right. Of course. Her cheeks flushed in shame. How childish could she be?

Marcus pulled away, then, rising to brush the dirt off his pants. Abby chewed anxiously at her fingernails, staring into the campfire before them.

“Good night, Abby. Try to get some rest,” he offered, standing somewhat awkwardly as he made to leave.

Rest. Being at ease. Not weighing the fate of humanity against trivial things like warmth and contentment – like comfort. How long had it been since Abby had even known  _how_ to do that? Earth was supposed to be their chance to pursue those luxuries, but here they were, on their way to cremate the body of a young boy to satisfy a tentative alliance with a society of gruesome killers. Once they’d secured that alliance, they’d need to work with those killers to rescue the rest of their children from the safe haven they’d initially picked out as their Eden, their fresh start, only to once again put their lives at risk. God knows what would come after that.

“Marcus” she called after him, eyes still locked on the flames. “We can’t… can we?”

She could see his posture soften as he turned back towards her.

“No. We can’t.”

She tried not to feel the echoes of warmth that still radiated from her thigh – her cheek – and oh, her lips – as she watched him march off towards his tent. At the corner of her vision, however, she caught a glimpse of two figures in the shadows, a tangle of limbs and long brown hair. Octavia… and Lincoln. Lying at the very centre of the camp, surrounded by those who might call them traitors to their respective tribes, every weapon pointed squarely at their hearts; but yet there they were, completely, utterly absorbed in each other. They’d found something new, and had found the courage to chase it with all they had, consequences be damned. They’d found togetherness.

_Maybe one day._


	2. 2x13

“Abby… what’s wrong?”   
  
Marcus’ voice rose softly through the air in his bedroom, cracked and thick with sleep. Abby pressed herself back against the door, one hand trembling over the handle as she watched Marcus sit up from his mattress. The blankets fell to his lap, uncovering a broad, masculine, _bare_ torso; the moonlight working in tandem with his ever-present sheen of sweat to highlight the dip of his collarbone, the curve of his shoulders, and - most enticingly - the shallow valley at the centre of his chest, dotted with fine, dark hair.   
  
She shouldn’t be here.   
  
Abby wasn’t really sure _where_ she was supposed to be, lately. Since they’d been rescued from the wreckage at TonDC, Jackson had been infuriatingly insistent that she rest, despite the sudden influx of the wounded in Medical. He’d allowed her to help out while they were in the village; there were simply too many places to be at one time. She’d eased her efforts once they were on the move, but once they’d arrived at the camp, she’d barely given Jackson time to check and clean her wounds before she set herself to work. Her assistant wouldn’t have it – there was some compression to her spinal cord, he said. She’d sprained her left medial collateral ligament. She’d be putting herself at risk of permanent injury.  
  
Abby had insisted she was fine, however; that the Grounder woman next to her would need more saline solution for the laceration on her arm, that it was showing signs of infection – _I need it **now** , Jackson _– and she couldn’t understand what on earth he was waiting for, had he inhaled too much smoke? He’d tried to physically grab her, in an effort to steer her out of Medical – but Abby had quickly wrestled herself out of his weak grasp and made her way towards the supply cabinets to get the solution herself.

It was then that Jackson had raised his voice; she’d jumped at the sharpness of it. Her soft-spoken assistant had a powerful baritone that he was loathe to use; but it had shaken her into stillness, then, with just two words: “That’s _enough!_ ”  
  
The entire Med bay had quieted at that, and all eyes were on Abby as she sheepishly turned to face the flustered Jackson. Offering a small nod of concession at the young man, she’d made her exit.   
  
Standing in the open, sparsely-populated hallway, trying to invent a task to occupy her – the chancellor and head of medical suddenly usurped by the boy she’d trained and the teenager she’d given birth to - Abby felt completely untethered.   
  
She tried to think of what she’d advised her patients to do: _sleep it off._ But… it was barely even noon. So, she’d headed for the war room, where she knew Raven would be working to figure out the acid fog – if it was safe enough work to do with a full leg brace, it was safe enough for Abby. However, when she arrived, she found that Raven had miraculously already acquired an assistant. The young mechanic did her best to catch Abby up, but Wick had jumped in with a sudden revelation that, upon having it explained twice, Abby still couldn’t quite wrap her head around. But Raven understood, and Raven was excited – and there was a glimmer of girlish mischief in her eyes as she smacked her fellow engineer for not thinking of it sooner. Abby quietly excused herself.

She’d managed to pass an entire half hour picking at a bowl of berries in the mess hall before she finally gave in and headed for her quarters.

She’d covered her window with a bedsheet and gotten herself undressed. She’d climbed under the covers of her bed. The adrenaline finally seeping out of her body as she lay flat on her back, it was quickly replaced with a heavy, consuming soreness, which Abby concentrated on, breathing deeply into the places where it hurt most. In this meditation, she’d almost found sleep.   
  
But.

“Are you alright?”  
  
“It’s nothing, Marcus,” she replied at last. Then, with a sigh: “Move over.”

His eyes, which had previously been in a squint to peer through the darkness and decipher the shadow at his door, now shot wide as Abby moved closer. He followed her with a somewhat dopy stare as she approached the side of his bed. Her hair was completely loose, falling in tangled cascades over her shoulders. She wore only her dark camisole and a pair of standard linen pants, matching his. There was a stiffness to her movement that he recognized, but a haze over her expression that he couldn’t quite read.

She arrived at his bedside, and with an expectant raise of her eyebrows, reminded him that she’d given him an order.

He blinked away his stupor and shuffled a few inches over, making efforts not to aggravate the ever-present throbbing pain in his leg. He gave a small groan at this, having been mildly unsuccessful, and Abby offered him a sympathetic glance as she climbed into the bed next to him. He watched as she curled up on her side, facing her back squarely towards him; her eyes locked on some inconsequential point on the opposite wall. Slowly, cautiously, he lowered himself down to lie on his back once more.

Silence weighed heavy over the two of them. The room was still, pale blue moonlight softly drifting in through the slats in the window behind them. They had enough presence of mind to know that the other couldn’t _actually_ hear their heart beating fast and furious; but even the slightest breath felt like an intrusion. Or perhaps it was an invitation? To what, neither of them could be sure. There wasn’t much to be sure of while Abby Griffin was lying in Marcus Kane’s bed.

As alert as he’d ever been at his post as a guard, it still managed to take Marcus by surprise when Abby finally spoke:

“How is it?”   

“Mm?”

“Your leg.”

He breathed a short laugh, his shoulders beginning to relax into the mattress.

“I’ll live,” he answered, smiling as he stared up at the ceiling. Then, his eyes fell to the space between them, his voice suddenly soft: “Thank you.”

Abby rolled her shoulder back toward him, then; still not quite facing him, but releasing her gaze from the wall to somewhere closer. He caught a glimpse of a smile at the edge of her lips.

“You know, I think this was it, Marcus,” she mused.

“What’s that?”

“Our sign,” she answered, laughing to herself at the mysticism of it. “We shouldn’t have survived.”

“Camp Jaha gets to keep its Chancellor,” Marcus smiled. Abby rolled her eyes as she turned to face him.

“That’s not what I meant.”  
  
She pursed her lips as she readied herself to continue.   
  
“Marcus… are we ever going to talk about that kiss?”   
  
A rush of heat flooded the room, then. His smile faded as he recalled dim firelight casting a warm glow over the first smile he’d gotten from Abby Griffin in years. He’d been so relieved to be back among his people; back among friends. The night had cast an illusion of having a moment to breathe, and he was so tired – and Abby… Abby was comfortable. So he’d gone and marked their lifelong friendship with his lips; and it could never be erased.

“We did,” he argued, with less conviction than he’d meant.

_We can’t… can we?_

_No. We can’t._

The words echoed in her head, too.

Which was why she then drew herself up to rest on her elbow, hovering inches from Marcus’ face; defeat the farthest thing from whatever was brightening her eyes now.

“We’ve been running from this like it’s the responsible thing to do. Like it’ll be easier to do what needs to be done. Like… dying alone somehow serves the greater good,” she contemplated.

He blinked at the beloved doctor’s admission.

“I don’t think that’s something you ever have to worry about, Abby.”

She looked up at him, then, a wild desperation in her eyes.

“I want you here, Marcus,” she breathed, leaning in close. He recoiled as she lightly nuzzled the tip of her nose against his - his lips parted all the same. She placed a hand at his cheek, and he shut his eyes against the contact. He felt her breath flutter against his lips, and his eyes flickered open once more, pleading for mercy.

She closed the distance between them.

Abby wondered if maybe she’d taken it too far. She kept her lips soft and steady against his, ready to retreat with whatever whisper of dignity she had left if he’d pushed her away. She locked away certain things as private memories, just in case: the taste of salt from sweat, the surprising suppleness of his bottom lip, the way they interlocked perfectly…

But then – his hand, broad and forceful, was at the back of her neck, and his teeth collided with hers as he pulled her flush against his urgent, desperate lips. She shifted her weight to lie partially on top of him, and his other hand came to her waist, teasing at the bottom of her camisole. She clutched his face in both of her hands, now, possessive and determined.

She hadn’t been sure what she was going to do when she’d come into his bedroom, but feeling her weight supported on his warm chest, and _oh, his bare skin against hers…_

She held him still in her hands for a moment, lifting herself from his lips. Abby looked down at him, eyeing him with a warning before lowering herself once more, parting her lips and cautiously, watchfully moving her tongue into his mouth. He moaned against her lips, an unsteady and almost whimpering moan that lingered as she flicked the tip of her tongue against his. She felt his tongue follow hers as she withdrew.

Not satisfied to simply lie back, Marcus wrapped a supportive arm completely around Abby’s waist, and suddenly they were seated and upright. She let her hands fall from his jaw to trail down his neck, across his shoulders, down his chest; they settled at his waist, pulling him closer. The hand that had been at her neck was now knotted deeply into her hair, and she sighed into his mouth as she felt the other hand slide beneath her shirt. She leaned away from him slightly, presenting herself so he could better work at undressing her.

Instead, his hands just hovered, a bit ridiculously, at the bottom of the camisole.

To make things perfectly clear, she reached between them and lifted her shirt over her head with a playful smirk, exposing a simple black bra. She watched his eyes darken with desire as his gaze fell to her breasts, heaving and warm and so, so close. He trailed his fingertips with shiver-inducing, feather-light gentleness up her sides towards the black material that contained them, thumbing it tenderly; pensively. As he reached around her to sort out the clasp, he tucked lingering kisses beneath her jaw, down her neck, and into the dip at her collarbone. She wrung her fingers into his hair, eager for him to continue.

As he was just about to release the clasp, she decided she’d had enough of being seated so awkwardly away from him, and swiftly moved to straddle his hips.

He cried out, then - decidedly _not_ a cry of pleasure.

His hands dropped. As he leaned away from her, he grimaced, a hand shooting instinctively to the source of his pain – his leg.

“Oh, god!” she gasped, frantically climbing off of him.

He hissed as the pain shot through him, clenching his teeth in an effort to quell it. Abby kneeled helplessly beside him, hand clapped against her mouth.        

“Marcus, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry,” she offered, “Did it reopen?”

She instinctively reached a hand over to check, but he quickly dismissed it.

“I don’t think so,” he answered between laboured breaths. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this tonight.”

She exhaled sadly before nodding in agreement. Marcus watched as a wave of something else – embarrassment? – washed over her. He took her hand.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t try again,” he offered sympathetically.

Abby drew back her hand, and Marcus froze.

“No,” she breathed, somewhat panicked. “No, no, you’re right. We shouldn’t have… done this.”

Her gaze was low, avoiding his as she reached for her shirt and quickly pulled it on. Marcus was stunned.

“Now, hang on. Abby. What you said about – about running, about the responsible thing to do…”

He’d begun to forget what her point had been. Abby had already swung her legs off the bed and was making to stand.

“ _Abby_ ,” Marcus called out sharply, the heat of passion mutating into rage. His skin buzzed. She stilled, keeping her back to him; he could see her shoulders tense. He took a long, focused breath to collect himself.

Suddenly, above even the pain that radiated in sharp waves from his leg, Marcus felt a much deeper pain twist into his chest. His fury quelled, and he hung his head low.

“Abby… What was this _really_ about?”

“Marcus, don’t. It wasn’t…”

“Tell me.”

There was no malice in the accusation. His voice was low, soft; sad. All the same, it stung Abby with its precision, and she closed her eyes against it. Anger was tempting, the urge to defend her intentions, but… she knew he wasn’t wrong.

“I didn’t mean to – I still…” she began, a tremble in her voice. She stopped herself as she felt the dishonesty begin to take over. She owed him more than that. She took a moment to consider the truth. The answer was just as much a revelation to her as she spoke: “I’ve lost her again, Marcus. And I don’t think I’m going to get her back this time.”

He exhaled. Of course.

“Once the war is over, she’ll come home,” he assured her.

She turned to face him, a sad smile on her lips. She shook her head.

“No. She won’t,” she answered. “Not _my_ Clarke.”

“She’s growing up, Abby.”

“She’s becoming Lexa.”

He couldn’t argue that. The Commander’s influence was strong.

Suddenly Abby’s eyes glistened with tears.

“I can’t protect her anymore,” she confessed, her voice cracking. A single tear streaked downward, more threatening to follow. “I don’t know to do that. I don’t know who I am if I’m not-“

“Her mother? _Abby_ …” he chided. “You will always be her mother. And she will always need you. Just… in different ways.”

He reflected on his own mother; a pang of regret reverberating at how he’d made a similar early departure from under her wing. As Abby looked at him, then, all helplessness and despair, he couldn’t help but glimpse Vera’s agony as her son turned away from her again and again. He’d sneered at her. Belittled her. She’d loved him with this same ferocity, and he’d condemned her to be alone.

_Alone._

“Abby, come here,” he breathed, gesturing at the space beside him on the bed.

There was a flicker of confusion in her face, but she slowly lowered herself back down. Once again, she curled up with her back to him; but this time he drew her in, gently wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her flush against his body. He reached up to brush a tangle of hair from her face, his fingers grazing her cheek where tears had fallen. He pressed a chaste kiss behind her ear.

“You are Abigail Griffin. You are extraordinary,” he whispered. “And you are not alone.”

She breathed deep, absorbing the words.

“Thank you, Marcus.”

Whether she believed him or not, he knew she’d have to figure out for herself; but for tonight, watching in quiet awe as her eyelids softly lowered, her breathing evened out, and her body became pliant and warm against his – he decided that maybe there could be a place for him at her side.

\---

The knock at his door came quietly, before the sun had even risen.

He blinked hard as he returned to consciousness. The sound only just registered in his mind, a faint whisper compared to the alarm bells sounding in his head at the realization that Abby Griffin was sleeping in his bed. They were no longer entwined; she occupied her own space on one side, now curled up to face him. He was thankful for this fact as he rose from his side of the bed, his chances of disturbing the peaceful Chancellor at rest now somewhat lessened. He took pains to move silently towards the door – a challenge further complicated by his injuries, of course, but he managed success all the same. Carefully, gently, he cracked the door open enough that whoever it was couldn’t see inside.

He was greeted by a solemn-faced Sgt. Miller.

“There’s news from Mount Weather, sir.”

Marcus’ heart sank as the guard debriefed him on the situation.

“Thank you, David. I’ll pass along the news to the Chancellor.”

Dismissing the man with a nod, he closed the door behind him; only to find Abby, awake and sitting up on the mattress. Sleep still clung to her as she squinted through the dim light towards Marcus. Her hair was a chaos around her head, her cheeks still flushed. He found himself subjected to fleeting memories of heat and skin as his eyes fell to her wrinkled clothing.

“What was that about?”

He didn’t want to answer. He wanted to crawl back under the sheets and wrap himself around her and kiss her until there was nowhere left to kiss. And then perhaps he would start again.

Instead, he walked over to his desk, swung the chair around to face Abby, and took a seat.

“Lexa betrayed them,” he announced. “She made a deal with Cage and pulled out her army.”

Despair fell over Abby’s features.

“And Clarke?”

“She’s gone back inside the compound.”

Abby shivered, folding her arms around herself and rubbing them.

“Abby…” Marcus began. And then, the three words he knew she deserved to hear: “She needs you.”

His turn to feel cold.

_More than you’ll ever need me._

     


End file.
